To The Journey
by kneipho
Summary: Sorry, this isn't new. I realized I must have erased this one, when cleaning up. Summary: A weird revised reaction to my boy, Harry's, "To the Journey" speech. Harry's POV .


**Disclaimer: ****_Star Trek_****and all of its subsequent incarnations, (including ****_Voyager_****)****are sole property of ****CBS Corporation**** and ****Paramount Pictures****. No characters belong to me. No profit made. No harm intended.**

**Title: ********To The Journey**

Author: kneipho  
Beta: Nada (sadly)  
Rating: M for adult subject matter.  
Fandom: VOY  
Character/Pairing Codes: K/f with mentionings of a friendly P

Notes: ___Journey_ contains spoilers for, "Non Sequitur","Timeless" and "Endgame". A weird revised reaction Harry's "To the Journey" speech. Harry's POV.

* * *

I keep thinking back to when I saw Tom in the corridor the other day, right before the Admiral arrived. I showed him my plans to resurrect the Slipstream Drive, asked him to meet me in the Holodeck. Re-run a few simulations. I've altered my notes and believe if the Old Janeway's scheme doesn't work out, if we make a few adjustments to the Flyer, we may still have a chance of getting home. Tom blew me off. Said he was home already.

___That dirty bastard._

Out here he's gotten settled. Not that I blame him, not really. He's built a life in this god-forsaken, never-ending tract of space: a gorgeous spouse, a baby coming, success in his profession. An escape from the ruins of an antecedent life.

Not like me. Sometimes, I hate it here so much —the interminable adventure. Adventure I craved before all of this began. Can you believe it? Now, sometimes, it feels so endless, so unremitting, so fucked-up and everlasting. I feel shabby. Blue and jaded. I'm getting tired. I can see in it in the mirror, in the expression of ennui stretching the skin sheltering my face. I've changed a lot since the beginning of our ___Voy's_ impelled peregrination and I'm not sure all those changes are for the best.

Sometimes, it feels like my body has divided, no longer one, now, but two people. The first: Proficient, Opts Officer Kim; dependable; world-weary; a man blunted; my career hurtling straight on into nowhere —lost on a small ship with no room to advance. And yet, I am different. The second: a man filled with hope. I feel green. I am still green, a young blade filled with potential. The artless, youthful Harry K. fresh off the Farm is still alive.

I am my mother's son, sheltered, aglow with wonder —living trapped in limbo. Living trapped, forever trapped, side by side, with me.

Well now, don't I sound confused? And maudlin. Shitty and bitter. I ___am_ confused, way more than a little. If we don't make it through the Hub, I think I'll go insane.

I'm just too tense. Way too tense...

I know what Tom would say, if I told him —the guy means well, but he really has no clue. "Use a program, Harry. Program a girl. Hump your brains out. I guarantee then you'll feel better."

But I don't want to. Not now, not with the chance of getting, of being so close to getting home. I'm not a prude. I just I don't want that kind of sex, not any more. Not again, or ever. Not empty sex with a holographic lie. It's all so sad. I still miss Libby. I always have. I can't let go. Man, I how I still want her. It is the sorry truth and why my love life is a mess. I close my eyes and see her face. I can almost smell her hair, hear her voice calling out my name. I fantasize we're still together.

Sex with Libby was the best sex of my life.

After my shift, I masturbate, quick and dirty, in my quarters. It's adolescent, a pillow jammed into my face to muffle the sounds I make when I come. The act, committed in the dark, pants pushed down around my ankles, is lonely —but completely human and grounded in the truth because I love her. I still love her, will always love her, I think, until I die. When I come, my head, so full of memories; my heart, my body cresting with sensations —is filled with Libby, with with what it feels like to hold her; the wonder of being planted deep between her thighs.

Is the trek truly important? In what realm? Not mine with with Libby. What was I thinking? I want to live out a full, rich, normal life at home. My Life on Earth.

I want Libby and I need to hug my mother. Screw the journey. I'm of a mind to make it home.

* * *

To the Journey, (c) copyright kneipho 2008, 2014


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